chasing sunsets & justice

Batman’s a brooding, self-serious douche who lives in a mansion, drives a Lamborghini, and acts like he can’t even imagine wanting to get laid unless it somehow helps him fulfill his mission of protecting Gotham from its lurking proletarian community. He isn’t one of us at all - in fact, he would resent the very idea. (Ironic, because of all the superheroes, he’s the only one who’s a regular human being under a mask.) Moreover, he’s basically always depressed - this Dark Knight could smoke a pound of week and watch a championship midget pillow fight without cracking a smile - and not because some Mary Jane or Lois Lane ignores him. What depresses the Batman is us. We suck so much that when Rises starts, Batman is in the eighth year of a self-imposed strike, refusing to leave his mansion until we stop blaming him for all our problems. America used to be a fun place, a happy place. But now, even in our summer blockbusters, it shows: We’re a long way from Chris Reeve pulling a cat out of a tree.